


Brutality (Part of the My Roof, My Rules series)

by disingenue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Characters you love doing things you hate, Evil AU Lexa (The 100), Here's to dark pasts, Lexa (The 100) - Freeform, Other, TW: Racism, TW: police brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disingenue/pseuds/disingenue
Summary: You guys are not gonna like this. You guys are NOT gonna like this. THIS IS A FLASHBACK.I really want to flesh out the character of Lexa and add some complexity, because sometimes behind a beautiful person is a person they were very ashamed of. And behind every shitty person is someone capable of and responsible for changing and bettering themselves, no excuses.I'm sorry for the timing, for those following the main series, but timing is everything and this is happening NOW, IRL, hundreds of times per night in North America.Seriously, if you're easily upset or just having a hard time coping with current events, don't read.And just to make you feel better, this is the dark beginning of Lexa’s special interest in marginalized populations. And gangster rap.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Brutality (Part of the My Roof, My Rules series)

_Finally, some action. It had been a boring weekend. She was hopped up for it. She was dying for it._

"Yeah, you can't do that here, Sir," Derek decided as he approached the man lingering near the dumpster. He studiously ignored them, rooting through the garbage bags.

"He's talking to you," Lexa cut in with a bite in her voice. "Turn around and talk to him."

"I'm looking for food; h-how am I gonna eat," the vagrant grumbled morosely.

"Not our problem. This is private property," the brunette replied, doing the talking.

“Hey, f-fuck you bullies, I’m not doing anything wrong,” the man insisted, turning from the dumpster, gameness in his stance but fear in his eyes. 

“Sorry… _what?!_ ” The bouncer questioned him.

“You said the wrong thing, on the wrong property,” Lexa observed coolly behind him.

“What do you want? ID?” The man demanded, his tone defensive, his eyes on the pavement. A grimy hand wandered to his pocket.

“DON’T put your hand in your pocket!” Lexa shouted in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. Derek lunged for him, hauling the man bodily to where the cameras didn’t point. 

Her compatriot pinned the man to the ground and Lexa aimed a hard kick to his ribs. The man groaned as the steel-toed boot connected ruthlessness. She kicked him again, for everyone who thought they didn’t have to take her seriously. She kicked him again, for each time she had been called retarded. She kicked him again for her boss, and that text he had sent yesterday morning. She kicked him until they forgot why they were kicking him. She was allowed, because he had broken the rules. Twice. They beat him until he stopped moving, then the bouncer got up. The man curled, groaning. Lexa spit at his prone form. 

“You are nothing, you _fuck_ ,” she hissed to him, every ounce of unhinged resent, aggression and evil in her being dripping into her voice. 

“C’mon, Lexa,” came a voice behind her. 

“Hippity hoppity, stay off our property.”

Thrumming; buzzing; almost giddy with adrenaline, they laughed as they headed back to the doors. Lexa sipped her “water” from her water bottle, glancing to Derek. He winked, and sipped his. They were friends. They were team. 

_At 22:40, a male, african-american, aged 45, 5’6, 120 lbs, with black skin , black eyes, short black and grey hair, and a mid-length mustache and beard, wearing a green wool toque, a dark brown jacket, a grey jersey-knit shit, black mittens, blue jeans and brown leather boots approached some club patrons outside the back entrance, asking for money. Club patrons informed door guard Lexa and door guard Derek, and went back inside. At 22:41, door guard Lexa and Door guard Derek approached the male, who was now loitering by the dumpster, and informed him that panhandling was prohibited on the property. Non-compliant. Male smelled like alcohol. Male cursed at door guard Derek, and reached into his pocket. Male removed from property at 22:44. Writers resumed duties. Nothing further to report._


End file.
